I sit, and watch, and wait For the time, the place, the date In a tree by the whitewashed gate The moment more than a minute late Stuck in a horrific scatterbrained state As if insisting an ingress interest rate Risking return to a tabula rasa slate No longer the proprietress of prized real estate Solely searching for the squandered second to relocate Eternal anticipation for a sudden soothing spate Fluctuating failure that hopefully time can eliminate Desire to keep things straight and communicate, lifting this worn weight